by Laura Kaye
“I’m going to grab my stuff,” she said, shifting to the bed’s edge.
He lowered his gaze, giving her a little privacy to make her way to the bathroom. Jamie pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt, scrubbed his hands over his close-cropped beard, and rolled his neck. What the hell was so screwed up inside him that he couldn’t connect with people the way he wanted?
Once sex got involved, it was like his body turned off…or wouldn’t turn all the way on. Sometimes he could only keep an erection or achieve orgasm by imagining…other scenarios. Darker scenarios. His mind wanted the sex to be good, and he wanted to stay in the moment, but there was always something missing. And it left him feeling like there was a wall between him and his partners even when he was as physically close as two people could get.
So this failed relationship—and all the ones that’d come before—he knew they were his fault. Which was a sonofabitch because he had no idea what the fuck was wrong with him. And at twenty-nine, you’d think he’d have a goddamn clue.
From the adjoining room, little noises sounded out as Liz collected the few things she’d begun leaving at his place weeks before. A razor. Her toothbrush and toothpaste. A small bag with a brush and some makeup in it. She returned dressed, her arms full.
Awkwardness bloomed between them for a long minute until Jamie finally broke it with his words. “I’m sorry, Liz.”
“Me, too,” she said.
He gestured for her to go first out of the room, and he followed her downstairs. “Let me get you something to carry everything.” He fished a handled shopping bag from the utility closet off the kitchen while she gathered more belongings that had migrated to his house. Canisters of her favorite tea and hot chocolate. A sweatshirt.
When she’d stowed everything in the bag, she stepped into her boots and tugged on her coat. An empty regret parked itself in Jamie’s gut, but what was truly sad about the sensation was that he wasn’t going to miss Liz so much as he was going to miss the potential feeling of belonging that Jamie couldn’t seem to find. With anyone. Which meant that Liz deserved so much more than him.
Standing at his back door, she gave him a last lingering look. “Well, take care of yourself.”
“You, too,” he said, opening the door for her. Cutting December air blasted in around the storm door.
Just when he thought she’d take flight, she leaned back in. “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for. Merry Christmas, Jamie.”
For a moment, the sentiment hit him like a punch to the gut. What was he looking for? “Merry Christmas, Liz,” he managed. But she was gone before he even finished the sentence.
Then Jamie was all alone with her parting words ringing in his ears. He blew out a long breath and secured the door. Braced his hands against the kitchen counter and stared at the multi-colored speckles in the granite surface. Paced to the fridge and stared blankly inside.
Restlessness flashed through him. No way did he want to sit around here thinking about Liz’s question while staring at the little artificial Christmas tree they’d put up in his front window. Thank fuck he was flying out to his parents’ place in California in one week’s time—the change of scenery would do him good. Except for the part where he had to answer his mother’s questions about how his relationship was going.
Shit.
He needed to get out of here—to do something. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave revealed it was still early enough on a Saturday evening to hope—so he picked up the phone and made a call.
A man’s voice answered. “Hard Ink Tattoo. Can I help you?”
“Hey Jeremy, it’s Jamie Fielding.”
“Yo, Jamie. What’s up, man?” Jeremy Rixey asked, his tone full of his characteristic good humor. Jamie had gone to the guy for all of his ink for the past five years, and they’d long since moved from a business relationship to friendship. “Tell me I get to work on you again soon.”
Grinning, Jamie nodded. “That’s why I’m calling. I know it’s a long shot but any chance you have an opening tonight?”
“Someone’s missed me, I see.”
Jamie rolled his eyes and smirked. Jeremy was one of the most flirtatious people he’d ever met, and the guy flirted equally with women and men alike—and everyone seemed drawn to him in return. Jamie sure always had been, but Jeremy was one of those people that made you feel good to be around. “Well, I’ve missed your tattoo gun, at least.”
A dark chuckle rolled down the line. “Aw, dude, now I’m even more flattered. My gun missed you, too.”
Jamie guffawed, and heat crawled into his cheeks. Jeremy always managed to get to him this way. Maybe that was odd given that he was straight, but Jamie couldn’t deny Jer’s ability to push his buttons. “That’s not— I mean, damnit.”
“Walked right into that one, Fielding. Admit it.”
“Yeah, yeah. Can you fit me in?” he asked, more than a flustered and exasperated. The whole thing with Liz had him on edge.
In the background, Jamie could just make out the sound of Jeremy’s fingers moving against a keyboard. “Hmm, for you I can be open around eight, if that’s not too late. But I promised Charlie that I’d be free by nine thirty tonight. How big of a piece are you thinking?”
“I want to expand the shoulder tattoo onto my back, so I’m flexible about how much we do.” Because as much as Jamie genuinely did want more of the cool blue-and-black tribal that formed a sleeve covering the entirety of his left arm, he wanted the bite of the tattoo gun even more. Tonight, that biting pain mattered more than the design that gave it to him.
“Okay, then you got it. See you at eight?”
Satisfaction flooded through Jamie’s gut. “Yeah, man. Thanks.”
Restless as Jamie was, it took forfuckingever for eight o’clock to roll around, and then he was parking his Range Rover at the curb in front of the big warehouse building that Hard Ink Tattoo called home. You’d never know from the neighborhood, filled as it was with abandoned buildings, that the city’s preeminent tattoo shop was located here.
A buzzer screeched above his head as Jamie stepped into the shop. His gaze scanned over the colorful images that covered every inch of wall space, a mix of tattoo design templates and finished pieces that Jeremy and his other artists had completed. It only took Jamie a minute to find the photo of one of his own tattoos, one he wore on the outside of his right calf that made it look like he had a mechanical skeleton beneath his skin.
Footsteps sounded out from the hallway that extended from behind the reception desk, and Jamie turned to see Jeremy, a big grin on his face, his brown hair a wavy, finger-raked mess, his pale green eyes full of humor. In full Jeremy Rixey style, he wore a T-shirt with a goofy-looking orange squirrel that read, Come Play With My Nuts.
Jamie chuffed out a laugh. “Jeremy, how the hell are you?”
Jer flicked his tongue over the twin piercings on his bottom lip. “Never better,” he said, extending his hand. They shook.
“First time I’ve seen you since your big news,” Jamie said, referring to his engagement to a man he’d been dating for the past year or so. “Congratulations.”
A grin nearly split the guy’s face. “Thank you.”
“When’s the big day?” Jamie asked, happy for his friend even as a part of him wondered what it would feel like to find the kind of connection with another person that would make someone look that joyful and content.
“May. And then we’re going to go somewhere warm where pants are optional.”
Jamie chuckled. “That’s life goals right there.”
Waggling his eyebrows, Jeremy nodded. “Tell me about it. But enough about me. It’s been too long since I’ve seen you. What? Two, three months?”
Yup. And that time frame was…not a coincidence, was it? He’d last been here just before he met Liz… “Yeah, sounds about right.”
“Well, it’s good to see you again. Come on back. You know the drill.”
“Quiet in here tonight,”
Jamie said. He was used to music playing. Or to Jer’s soon-to-be-married employees, Ike and Jess, bantering with each other. Sometimes, there was even a three-legged German shepherd who hung out in the shop, wreaking havoc with a squeaky tennis ball or by stealing things from Jess, whom the dog seemed to love to goad into playing chase.
“Ike and Jess had a thing tonight, and I’d blocked out my schedule with drawing time for a big back piece I’m starting tomorrow.” Jer led them into his tattoo room and gestured to the chair sitting in the middle of the room.
“Aw, hell. You shoulda pushed me off, man,” Jamie said, shrugging out of his coat.
“Nope, no need. I got it done. Wanna see?”
“Hell, yeah.” Jamie followed Jer out into the big square lounge at the back of the shop. An abstract spray-painted mural dominated the rear wall, reading, Bleed with me and you will forever be my brother. Something about the sentiment appealed to Jamie on a visceral level and had for as long as he’d been coming here.
Several round tables filled the center of the floor, and on one sat a stack of books, a sprawl of art supplies, and several versions of a huge design. One was clearly Jeremy’s original full-color hand drawing, and the second was a black-and-white image that would become the stencil from which Jeremy would outline the actual tattoo. It was a dozen-panel superheroes-against-villains comic strip, without words. And though it wasn’t to Jamie’s taste, the artistry and boldness of it were freaking awesome. “This is incredible, Jeremy.”
“Yeah?” Arms crossed, he stood studying it. “I keep making little adjustments.”
Jamie leaned closer. “How long will this take you? It looks damn intricate.”
Jeremy braced his hands on the back of a chair, bringing them shoulder to shoulder as they studied the piece. “Probably three or four sittings depending on the guy’s tolerance for pain.”
A jolt of heat flashed through Jamie’s body, and he found himself slanting a gaze at the other man.
Jer grinned and winked. “Not everyone can handle the burn the way you can.”
Out of nowhere, arousal slinked through Jamie’s body. Flushing, he forced his gaze back to the drawing. But he could barely see it for the riot currently erupting inside his brain. Where the hell had this reaction come from? And what exactly was he reacting to? Jeremy’s words? Jeremy himself? The idea of how much a big full-color tattoo could hurt?
Or D) All of the above, a little voice in his brain whispered. Because he had occasionally gotten aroused from getting inked before, though he’d always chalked it up to the adrenaline rush.
What the hell?
A hand slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, come on in and get naked for me. Time for me to get my hands on your back.”
“Uh, yeah. Right,” he murmured. But he lingered with the drawing for just another minute, because his body was so not under control, and he was kinda struck stupid trying to understand it. Maybe he was just on edge because of the break-up?
He approached the tattoo room like a snake might jump out at him, but only found Jeremy preparing his work station. Acting totally normal. Seemingly unaware that he’d just inspired arousal in a man who two hours ago had been inside a woman. A straight man. A straight man whose gut clenched with a foreign, anxious heat as he removed his shirt and straddled the chair.
What. The. Hell.
Jamie had never been the kind of man who couldn’t acknowledge that another man was good-looking, but he’d never had this kind of physical reaction to another man before, had he? A memory came out of nowhere, of getting hard listening to his college roommate masturbate in the darkness of their shared space, when Ryan had thought Jamie was asleep. But he’d never thought that was so much about Ryan as about being a secret voyeur to someone else’s pleasure.
Which all led Jamie back to what the hell…
Fortunately, the first sharp vibration of the tattoo gun against his shoulder chased a lot of the angsty overthinking away, and then a little bit more, until Jamie relaxed into the burn of the needles against his skin. The outlining wasn’t too painful, though his tribal had nice, thick outlines that meant Jer had to go over the same stretch of skin again and again until his nerve endings fucking sang. But the filling in with color, that was where things got really good. Where the concentrated focus of the gun made him feel nearly high with an explosion of endorphins.
Part of Jamie wished it hurt even more, because maybe then he’d fly even higher.
This was why he loved getting a tattoo. This was why he had a full sleeve on one arm, a biceps piece on his other arm, a rib tatt that’d hurt like hell, the mechanical leg on his calf, and another tribal on the back of his leg. Together, they represented about twenty-two hours’ worth of work.
Twenty-two hours’ worth of pain.
Thinking about it that way, something inside him stirred with an odd sort of satisfaction.
Jeremy made small talk as he worked, and while Jamie responded, the bigger part of his brain was offline riding the high. His thoughts were scattered and indistinct, a stream of consciousness inspired by the sensations flooding through him. Which was probably why his mind meandered back to his bedroom earlier, to being with Liz. Why couldn’t it have felt like this?
The errant thought sent blood rushing to his dick.
“What’s that?” Jeremy asked, wiping away excess ink as he expanded the big tribal onto Jamie’s upper back.
“What?” Jamie asked. Heat bloomed over his cheeks, slow but steady.
“Dude, you just asked why something didn’t feel like this.” The tattoo gun worked over the same area of skin, the concentration evidence that Jer was filling in with color. And between the pain and the feeling of the man’s big hands on his skin and the realization that Jer might catch him getting off on getting inked, Jamie’s body couldn’t decide whether to be aroused or embarrassed. Oddly, the combination of the two seemed to be doing…confusing things to him.
Jamie released a breath. “Oh, uh…” He shook his head and forced some of the haze away. “I dunno, man.”
“You okay tonight?” Jer asked, a seriousness slipping into his tone.
He swallowed hard, his body pulled between competing emotions and reaction. So he gave voice to the only explanation he had for any of it. “Eh, yeah. Liz and I broke up.”
“Aw, hell. I’m sorry,” Jeremy said.
“Thanks. We weren’t that serious. Anyway, I was just zoning out.”
“Mmhmm. Zone away, my friend.”
Heaving a deep breath, Jamie nodded. “Getting ink chases all the bullshit away, you know?”
Jer chuckled. “Amen to that. The pain is half the fun for you, isn’t it?”
Jamie froze, then slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder at his friend. “Uh, yeah, I guess it is.” His response came out sounding casual, but that belied the earthquake happening inside Jamie’s brain.
I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.
Liz’s parting words came roaring back, but to what end? Jamie wasn’t looking for pain, for fuck’s sake. He had enough of that every freaking time a relationship went down in flames.
Jeremy threw him a wink. “Masochists are always good repeat customers for a tattoo shop.”
Masochists? Wait, what?
“Knock, knock,” came a man’s voice from behind them, cutting off Jamie’s chance to ask why Jer had made the leap all the way to that. Lots of people liked the burn of getting a tattoo, didn’t they?
“Hey, babe,” Jeremy said, finishing out a section of fill. “I’ll be done in a few.”
The tall, dark-blond-haired man lingered at the doorway. Charlie Merritt, Jeremy’s partner and fiancé. They lived in a loft apartment on one of the upper floors of the building, so Jamie had met the guy before.
“Hey, Charlie,” Jamie said. “You’re welcome to come in.”
Charlie gave a small smile as he moved closer. The guy was quiet and reserved but apparently scary brilliant when it came to computers. “Hi
, Jamie. I didn’t know you were coming by tonight.”
“Last minute thing,” he said. “Jeremy did me a favor.”
Jer winked as he finished and cleaned the new tattoo. “I’m cool like that.” He handed Jamie a mirror that confirmed, as expected, that the tribal looked all kinds of bad ass crawling down his back. It now went as far as his left shoulder blade in a series of blue-and-black arcs and zigzags.
Around the new design, Jamie’s skin was bright red, and the evidence of the pain he’d endured—and would still endure as it healed—gave him a feeling of satisfaction, too.
“Awesome as always, man.” Jamie turned from the wall mirror in time to catch Jeremy giving Charlie a kiss. Just a quick press of his lips against the corner of Charlie’s smiling mouth. More affectionate than anything, but it still unleashed something inside Jamie.
Something that wanted what they so clearly had. The obvious love and chemistry that simmered beneath the surface of that little show of affection. Maybe it was strange that he looked at two men and saw what he wanted, but Jamie had always been struck by the strength of the connection that Jeremy and Charlie shared. Envious, even. So it didn’t feel that strange to him to see in them what he wanted for himself.
“Let me get you bandaged,” Jer said.
Jamie straddled the seat again, and as Jer rubbed ointment onto the new tattoo, Charlie gave a wave. “I’ll let you finish up. Good to see you, Jamie.”
“You, too, Charlie. And congrats on your engagement.”
“Thanks,” Charlie said, blushing and throwing Jeremy a crooked smile.
Taping on a bandage, Jer chuckled and winked. “Bye, babe. Be up in a few.”
Jer made quick work of cleaning up while Jamie donned his shirt and coat. And then he was paying his bill at the front reception desk and shaking Jer’s hand. “Thanks for working me in tonight. I needed it.”
“Anytime, man. You know where to find me.”
Jamie turned to go, then faltered. Debated. Turned back. “Actually, can I ask why you called me a masochist?”
Jer blinked, and a series of emotions ran over his expressive face. “Oh, uh. It’s just that…some people get off on pain. I thought…well, am I wrong in thinking you’re one of them?”
